


aftermath

by peachfuzz (johniaurens)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, kinda i guess idk, morgan takes a bullet for reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6182584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/peachfuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't feel anything like when he died in Tobias Hankel's shed. He can taste blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doriantrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriantrash/gifts).



> i have 2 go to sleep i wanted to publish this before i Go

For half a second, it's completely quiet. 

Reid knows he must be dead. He was shot in the chest, probably right between his ribs. He wasn't wearing a bullet vest, thought he could talk the unsub down, which, in hindsight was foolish, but he profiled as someone who could be talked out of a kill if done properly. But Reid had rushed through his carefully planned speech and the unsub had realized that he was just trying to buy time. And now – now he was shot in the chest. Must have been – the unsub had direct aim on him, he heard the weapon go off. 

It doesn't feel anything like when he died in Tobias Hankel's shed. He can taste blood. 

And then the world comes back. 

Sirens. Shouting. Hotch? Emily? Footsteps. Cold concrete. Someone's leaning over him, talking, but the sound is distorted. His ears are ringing. He does a quick mental check for injuries; some superficial scratches, quite possibly a concussion, probably a broken elbow he leaned onto with his full weight when he was pushed backwards. Wait. Pushed backwards?

_Morgan._

Reid struggles to sit up. Hotch immediately tells him to lie back down. Reid ignores him, tries to put weight onto his injured arm and regrets it immediately. Sharp pain shoots up his arm and Hotch grabs his shoulder and guides him back onto the ground.  
“Morgan”, Reid croaks out, distressed. His the fingers of his uninjured arm are grasping at Hotch's back, bunching up the fabric. Hotch's eyes soften.  
“He's going to be okay. Stay still”, he says, but his eyes are dark and distant and Reid whimpers in distress. He's sinking fast now that shock has left his body, every part of his body on fire, mouth dry, and his head feels so fuzzy, so slow. Hotch combs his fingers through Reid's hair, a small, sad smile on his face. When he pulls his hand away it's smeared with blood. 

\----

 

Reid passes out twice on the way to the hospital. He tries to stay awake, he really does, but they're taking him straight to surgery, and after several minutes of coaxing from Hotch and Emily he agrees to be put under. The hospital is only a couple more minutes away so it'll just speed up the process. 

“How's Morgan?”, Emily asks after a few minute of silence. She's shaking. Her hair is limp and wet on her face. Hotch sighs.  
“I don't know”, he says. It's the truth – he only saw Morgan briefly, and he was on the ground. Rossi and JJ were both by his side, JJ's index and middle finger on his throat, looking for a pulse. Rossi was holding both hands over a bullet wound on Morgan's right side, just underneath his bullet vest. 

It wasn't something Hotch wanted to think about. Red. A pool of blood and dirty water. Sirens and shouting.

“He's going to be okay”, Hotch says, and his words sound hollow, even to himself. Emily looks away. 

“Do not give him narcotics”, Hotch shouts after them when the hospital doors close after Reid and the paramedics. He looks small, somehow. The rain has soaked through his slacks and dress shirt. He's holding his suit jacket in his arms like it's a child. He looks – resigned. Guilty. So _tired_. 

Emily puts a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them dares to speak.

 

\----

When Morgan wakes up it's still dark. It's quiet. It must still be night. They must have gotten home pretty late yesterday, and he has no memory of getting home after the case. He should probably sleep for at least a couple more hours. His alarm isn't set until seven. He goes to roll onto his stomach.

And then - 

Pain. White-hot wet surge of pain that knocks the breath out of him for a second, leaves him gasping. He flails, manages to knock something off the bedside table. 

“Morgan!”, exclaims a voice from his left side, surprised, frightened, and then someone's turning on the lights.

He has to blink owlishly for a couple of seconds before he adjusts. Garcia's standing next to his bed wrapped up in a blanket. Her hair is a mess and she looks frightened.  
“Garcia”, he says, and his mouth is so _dry_ it sounds more like a croak but Garcia smiles at him, eyes wet and her smile wavering slightly.  
“Hey”, she says and her voice is so small. Morgan moves his hand a little to touch the source of his pain and hisses.  
“You were shot”, Garcia hurries to explain, and Morgan makes a face. Ah. Of course. 

And then he _remembers_. Reid, on the street, alone with the unsub, his hair soaking wet in the pouring rain. The unsub raising his weapon in the darkness. Reid noticing it too late. Reid not wearing his bullet vest. The gun. Reid's wide eyes. Reid's unarmed. Reid's not wearing his bullet vest.

Morgan is a fast runner and he was wearing his vest. It only seemed logical. He knew that if he tried to shout at Reid to watch out it would just be easier for the unsub to catch him off guard, to _kill_ him. It seemed like the best possible solution. 

Rossi was right behind him, gun in hand, and Morgan knew that he could take the unsub. So when Morgan heard the click of the safety of the unsub's gun he threw himself in front of Reid. 

And got shot, apparently. The plan was to get shot in the chest, where it would hurt like hell but he would be okay since he was wearing his bullet vest. Apparently the unsub wasn't as good of a shot or he was startled by the unexpected change of targets because the bullet went in inches below his ribcage. 

Anyway. He's fine, clearly, feels okay except for the throbbing pain that's making him feel nauseous and shaky, but he's alive. And so is Reid.

Except. No one ever told him if Reid _was_ okay. What if he cracked his head open on the sidewalk and bled out right there? What if the unsub managed to shoot again?  
“Reid”, he gasps, knuckles paling where he's grabbing the bedsheets. “Reid”.  
Garcia is at his side in a flash.  
“Reid's okay, he's fine, he broke his elbow and he has a concussion and they had to give him a few stitches in the back of his head. You should see him, really, they had to shave the back of his head because of the stitches, and it looks really funny. Haha”, Garcia sounds so nervous, her laugh a tight, unnatural sound. She's rambling, and it hits Morgan just how _scared_ she must have been with two of her best friends in the hospital. It must have been _terrifying_.  
“Baby girl”, he says, and his voice is still raspy but he opens his arms and Garcia falls into the embrace. 

 

\----

 

The door of his room creaks open. Garcia's getting coffee, he remembers vaguely. It must be her. But there's no smell of coffee, and the footsteps don't sound like hers. They're too light. Too careful. Guilty. Like whoever they belong to is scared to disturb the air around him.

 _Him_. He smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Morgan's sleep numbed brain vaguely makes a connection. 

The mattress dips slightly under a human-shaped weight. Morgan tries to focus on it, tries to recognize the person, but he's so tired, his limbs so heavy, and he's so wonderfully warm and he really doesn't want to open his eyes. 

A heavy, shaky sigh. Thin arms wrapping around his body, drawing him closer. A head tucking itself underneath his chin. His hair smells like vanilla shampoo. 

Reid. Spencer. Alive. A solid weight against Morgan's chest.

It makes something tighten in his chest. Love. Appreciation. Fondness. A strange sense of peace and safety. His head is still pleasantly fuzzy with painkillers and sleep. His left side is completely numb. Spencer's breath is warm on his neck, over his throat. He feels vulnerable. He feels _loved_. 

He lifts his arm, puts it around Spencer. It doesn't really hurt, but the motion doesn't come naturally, feels off, too slow, fuzzy. Spencer makes a soft choked off sound at the back of his throat at the contact, and for a second he thinks he might cry. 

But he doesn't. Instead he nuzzles closer, presses a dry kiss into the skin of Morgan's throat. 

Morgan lets himself drift off.


End file.
